


(It Starts) Like This

by nereid



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nereid/pseuds/nereid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's already half-way through the sentence when he opens the door fully and he thinks he might love her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(It Starts) Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Secret Santa exchange.

He picks up the phone, but only after it rings four and a half times. Leave her hanging; make her think. She doesn't need to know he's not moved from his couch all day (only once, to pee, but that's not important or dramatic enough to be mentioned, really). It's projecting an image that matters.

"What?" (a fake annoyed tone in his voice, _good work, Jeff, keep this up._ )

"Where are you?" 

"Home"

"Alone?"

"Why not?"

"No one should be alone for Christmas."

She hangs up (which is unexpected) and he wishes she hadn't (which is anything but unexpected).

 

 

The room feels cold now.

 

 

But he can live like this, he thinks. Scraps and bits and pieces and sometimes putting them together temporarily; stressing over picking out shirts in the perfect shade of blue and matching jeans and a hat perhaps now and then, when he's older and hopefully wiser. 

 

He thinks he can live like this.

 

 

He's just getting a beer from the fridge (It's important that he lives, right? And if he sometimes has alcohol to help him get by, well, it's not important what he does if it helps, right?) and then there's a knock on his door, and he sighs. ( _Please, let it be her, please._ )

 

"Jeez, Jeff, you really shouldn't be alone for Christmas." 

 

She's already half-way through the sentence when he opens the door fully and he thinks he might love her (for this; not in general, not in the _til death do us part_ sort of way; but because she's the girl that sometimes speaks too quickly and doesn't even care if anyone's listening and sometimes that happens with him, and sometimes it doesn't annoy him as much as it usually does).

 

 

It occurs to him then, she's still standing in the doorway and he's still blocking her way in and he also hasn't said anything in a limited amount of time that's passed since she stopped speaking.

 

"Jeff?"

"Annie"

"Hi."

"Jeff?"

"Sorry, sorry. Do you wanna come in?"

 

This is when he realizes he'll never completely understand Annie Edison: in a matter of seconds, or less, she manages to nod (looking pleased with herself), roll her eyes (looking not so pleased with him) and still come through his door when he finally steps out of the way.

She goes straight for the kitchen (which is not so difficult, since it's visible from the door, and her hands are occupied with a multitude of grocery bags) and sets her things on the table there. (It's almost like she belongs here; not quite, it's something like a very distant future possibility.)

 

"I have both Chinese and Mexican, I hope that's okay."

"Takeout. The perfect woman, ladies and gentlemen,"

 

At this point he manages a feeble smile (which is all he allows himself) but it seems she'll smile enough for both of them tonight.

 

 

"I like your dress," he tells her later, while she's standing on her toes, trying to reach the corkscrew to open the red wine she brought. 

 

"It's a skirt," she says, laughs, but just a little. 

 

"Whatever," he says, not really sure what he's trying to convey. _Whatever._

 

 

She still hasn't reached the corkscrew.

 

 

"Need any help with that?" 

 

He only says this because he knows she'll turn around and face him and roll her eyes, and he always likes it when she turns around to face him and rolls her eyes.

 

 

He gets the corkscrew in the end, but she opens the wine, so it's another victory for her, he guesses, especially since he seems to have run out of beer and in the end she pours a glass for him as well, a look trying to pass as smug on her face.

 

 

He won't tell her this, but this is not a lousy way to spend Christmas, sitting on a couch with Annie Edison, drinking wine and eating takeout. He won't tell her this, but he smiles, and she smiles back, and maybe he's just told her anyway.

 

 

"Merry Christmas, Jeff," she says at some point, at midnight he supposes. He couldn't tell, can't stop staring at her face.

 

 

It's hours later, he thinks, when Annie gets up from the couch, says "I have to go now," and gets up slowly.

 

"Why?"

"It's late, Jeff."

"So what, Annie? You don't have a curfew."

"Jeff -"

"Annie."

 

He's not a 19 year old girl, but even he can think of ways this could be better: if his mouth didn't taste like red wine, if hers tasted like the whiskey he has in his kitchen, if they remained seated on the couch or if there was music playing in the background (he's thinking The Beatles, some softer song or other). He thinks all of these things and then he kisses her anyway, kisses her because he wants her to stay, kisses her because he wants her, kisses her whatever. 

 

It's alright, because she kisses him back, so maybe he won't need to explain himself right away, maybe he can just kiss her for a while, keep the explaining at bay until morning.

 

 

"You taste like wine," she giggles.

"Stay," he whispers to her ear.

 

 

She kisses him then, and he thinks something that's less words, more of a smile, and he kisses her back, guides them back to the couch and eases them down slowly, her hands in his neck, and suddenly her legs around him, with her in his lap.

 

They fuck; they do it quick and then slow, once, and then once again even slower. They touch and kiss and smile. He bites her and she doesn't giggle and he bites her and she giggles.

 

 

He likes how Annie sleeps when she sleeps, near him but not all over him, her legs tangled with his, and how they both have room enough to breathe, but as soon as one of them moves and breaks contact her hand will reach for his the minute his does, and as their fingers entwine, he thinks all of this, it might mean something.

 

 

He can live like this, he thinks.


End file.
